Part 7
"Suck, Chosen One!"
The voice penetrated serenely into Starbuck's blazing feverishness. "Take strength from the root."
He dimly felt something touch his lip and he was too weak to spit it out as it was forced into his mouth. The voice was compelling and it brought a hint of peace to his confused state so he did as he was bid. He lacked the strength to think as his body continued to be ravaged by the retching and the straining. He simply existed in the heat of his pain and discomfort. He did not know how long he had lain powerless. Time, like everything else had no sense to him. His life was simply the moment and all that stretched out behind him in the comfort of memory and all that was to be lived with the joy of hope was lost to him. He counted only by the intensity of his pain as it scorched through him and his stomach convulsed uncontrollably.
And yet the liquid that the voice commanded him to drink was cool and refreshing. He felt is as a relieving balm as it swirled around his mouth and as he swallowed it along his swollen, parched throat. He could not open his eyes, so he clenched them shut and forced all of his remaining strength into sucking deeply of the liquid and relishing its soothing affect. He lay back in to the warm earth, feeling a sudden connection with its comforting softness and waited. Slowly his straining muscles relaxed, his stomach stopped rolling like the seas of Caprica and the nausea left him.
Eventually he managed to open his eyes. Doe eyes of deep chestnut looked down at him with a surprising amount of sympathy. As his senses returned he felt a cool softness mop along his forehead. "Thank you," he whispered weakly.
The features of the hairy equine face before him seemed to shift a little – was that what passed for a smile? Starbuck did not know and he lacked the will to contemplate it further. Instead his lips sought the straw and he sucked more of the comforting liquid.
"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.
"Tyroot," the deer creature replied.
"It's good stuff!" Starbuck breathed, his irrepressible spirit surfaced. "I think later we should talk about marketing it to the fleet!"
The creature's face flared in puzzlement. "You must rest," it said. "You need your strength."
He nodded but already the tyroot had made him feel so much better that his mind was slowly finding its way out of the feverish fuzz it had dwelt in. Questions bombarded him but he lacked the will to formulate them into words. So he simply let out a long breath and enjoyed the soft stroking of the creature beside him.
"You are extremely beautiful," the animal said.
Starbuck snorted softly. "I don't feel it," he retorted. His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
The creature seemed to swell proudly. "I am Magawincha," it said. "I am here to look after you, Chosen One."
"Magaw…. Magawinch…" Starbuck frowned as he stumbled over the name. His thoughts were still fluttering through his head like a drunken butterfly. "Can I call you Mags?" he asked finally in frustration.
Deep inside Magawincha's heart was somersaulting with glee. He was talking to her, not only that, he was giving her one of those stunning smiles that reminded her of nothing so much as the sun breaking through the rain clouds and bestowing the warmth of life to all but this sun was only for her. "Of course, Chosen One!"
"Starbuck," he said softly, trying to sit up. "Call me Starbuck, please."
"Starbuck." Magawincha repeated, feeling the sensation the strange name made on her tongue as she spoke it. "You bless me too well," she muttered, head down modestly.
He reached out, a hand shuddering with weakness but still able to gently lift her snout until their eyes met. "No, I…" He started but his whole body suddenly convulsed as electricity sparked through his whole being. He shrieked in shock and then fell backwards, his balance lost as his limbs jerked and spasmed out of his control.
As he fell his wayward arm knocked Magawincha over too. "Beagragon!" she squealed.
The Keeper of the Monolith, Protector of the People had been fulfilling his duties in the upmost earnest. The writings were quite clear; once the Chosen One had revealed himself the joyous news must be broadcast to all the people that remained. As was the ancient way of his kind, Beagragon had been beating the required tattoo onto the hollowed out log that had long served as the ancient method of communication all morning. He did not, however, believe that there were any others of their kind on the planet; the drums had been silent for many years and his little band had seen no sign of any others; they had been alone. But the writings had to be followed implicitly that, above all things, was his duty. Now he ceased his drumming and reluctantly moved across to where Magawincha was pulling herself to her feet gingerly.
He cast a jaundiced eye over the Chosen One's still thrashing form and let out a long sigh. "The second phase begins," he pronounced sternly. "The spasms will be violent and uncontrollable. He has expelled the unclean liquids from his body, now he must eject the impure spirits; their passing will be brutal and vicious. But so it will be. We will wait for this one to calm and then we will tie him appropriately."
"Tie him?" Magawincha questioned as Eweenator came up behind them, her ears twitching with interest.
Beagragon fixed her with his most masterful stare. "So it is written. We cannot allow him to injure himself before the prescribed time and the impure spirits will not be vanquished unless he fights fiercely."
"But…"
"Do you question me, child?" Beagragon thundered, nostrils twitching angrily.
Magawincha dropped her head in submission. "Of course not! It's just… just…" She ran her tongue nervously around her lips. She did not like to answer back to Beagragon, and normally would not even think to do so, after all what was she compared to him? But there was something about the Chosen One, Starbuck, something that caused her to act differently. It felt wrong to treat him in such a way.
Beagragon sighed condescendingly. "You mean well, Magawincha, but now, more than ever, we must be slaves to the scriptures. We reach a crucial point in the process, to question now is to weaken our power! To question is to introduce the concept of failure – would you have that burden on your soul, Magawincha?"
Her eyes widened in fright. "Of course not!" she wailed.
Beagragon nodded. "Eweenator fetch the stakes and twine we have prepared. We must keep strong hearts now or all will fail!"
Feeling cowed and a little stupid, Magawincha looked down at Starbuck. His fit did now seem to be quietening. She moved back to him and gently wiped away the trickle of spittle that dripped from the side of his mouth. His eyes opened at her touch and again she felt something deep inside tumble over itself.
"What's happening, Mags?" he asked, so weakly she had to bend in close to hear.
She smiled as reassuringly as she could. "You are doing so well," she whispered.
Her voice was overlaid by Beagragon's who boomed from close by. "You have survived the first phase, Chosen One. You are cleansed!"
Starbuck groaned. "The first phase?" he repeated weakly, his eyes never leaving Magawincha's. "How many…." An aftershock crashed through him then and his body tensed once more.
"There are four phases," Beagragon intoned in the voice of a school master. "Before you reach your promise. Each will test your resolve more than the one before. You are blessed; you were born to suffer and from your suffering shall come new life! So it is written!"
Starbuck moaned. "I never…" he began.
"Peace, Chosen One!" Beagragon continued firmly. "You are in safe hands now. Save your strength and give up your fear, there is no turning back. Trust me – I shall see that the rituals are followed. You have already given yourself to us, now let us take all you have and create something glorious!"
Starbuck tried to move forward as fear flashed through him but his strength was gone. He shivered miserably as he sensed his body prepare to spasm once more. Eweenator arrived with the twine and began to tie his hands as Beagragon instructed. She moved down to his ankles and soon Starbuck was unable to move. As the convulsion crashed through him his body flexed beneath the bindings and he moaned pitifully.
"All will be well!" Magawincha's voice came to soothe his battered conscience. She gently placed the straw in his mouth. "Drink the tyroot; it will give you strength."
"Mags," Starbuck struggled. "I never understood, not really. Kynan didn't tell me this! I can't!"
"Shush!" Magawincha's eyes were wide with sympathy. "You must play your part, Starbuck! Never lose sight of what you do here. You sacrifice much but remember the prize. Be strong and brave and do not lose your resolve, not now. I will be with you always; take my strength, my belief Chosen One!"
Starbuck nodded unconvinced. He closed his eyes and looked inwards. "Kynan!" he shouted. "Kynan, we need to talk now!"
But again the seed did not answer him.
"Any sign?" Apollo asked working hard to keep his tone positive.
Boomer shook his head gloomily. "They were here, we know but that's about all."
They stood in the clearing from where they had rescued Starbuck. Both could see the signs of the camp that had been there but it was just as obvious that the creatures had moved on.
Apollo shivered. It was raining; a dull, dank drizzle that made the surrounding forest oppressive and lifeless. It had also washed away any signs that may have helped them. The whole area was now covered with grey, cloying mud that shifted with every movement. Water puddled in the undulations, dripping from trees and seeping between boots and clothing into places that should always remain dry! It was miserable and fast turning out to be pointless.
"What about the shuttle?" Boomer asked.
Since depositing their small group, Jolly had taken the shuttle to reconnoitre the surrounding area. He was flying a pre-computed pattern that would give him the widest coverage while conserving enough fuel to ensure their return flight to Galactica.
Apollo sighed and banged his fist against his thigh in frustration. "Jolly reports he has sighted another six of the monolith structures scattered about the planet but mainly quite close. Each is found at the centre of an area of seemingly healthy vegetation that quickly dissipates as you move away from it. It swiftly becomes lifeless desert that covers most of the surface."
"No sign of Starbuck?"
"No. Jolly has reported seeing a number of the deer creatures but they have fled to deeper forest when he flew nearer. Apart from that, and a few smaller animals there has been nothing else."
"We're drawing blanks and running out of time," Boomer sighed. He glanced away. "Bucko, what in Hades have you got yourself into now?" he sighed.
"Sirs!" Ensign Cree came to a skidding halt before his superior officers. His face was flushed and his wet hair was dripping into his eyes but his body was tense with excitement.
"Go ahead, Cree," Apollo prompted.
"Sir, we came across a group of the deer. They seemed to be moving purposefully, so we followed them." He stopped, gulping for breath. Apollo passed a water bottle into his hand and waited while he drank. "They met up with another group, so there was at least fifteen of them. Then we heard it."
"Heard what?"
"Banging, Sir, like drums. It was echoing through the forest like some alarm call. The deer appeared to be moving towards it. Marton carried on but I came back to report."
"Very good, Ensign Cree. Get yourself some warm food." Apollo turned back to the Lieutenant. "What do you think, Boomer?"
Boomer shrugged. "It's all we got – we better check it out.
They made slow progress through the forest. As they moved the landscape changed abruptly from the verdant evergreens that were scattered around the area they had landed to an area of deciduous trees. However, these trees, though they may once have been impressive, were now only twisted trunks and branches that clutched upwards toward the indifferent sky as if it could provide them with sanctuary from the insidious mud. Apollo did not know what season it was but in this place it certainly appeared they were in the grip of a damp, misty autumn. There was no greenery, no life, and to make it even more foreboding everything was shrouded in a grey mist. It smelt of nothing so much as death and decay, a putrid pong that made Apollo's bowels lurch in disgust.
The silence of the place was broken by the dull drumming which, although soft at first, strengthened as they grew closer to its source. It echoed through the trees like the heart beat of some gigantic monster and it chilled the resolve of the Warriors as they drew closer.
"There's one!" A shout went up from Cree.
Apollo lifted his head and saw the flash of movement over to their left. He took a snap decision, knowing that his options were reducing with every centon. "Get it!" he shouted.
There followed a slithering, slippery chase where more than one Colonial Warrior ended up on his butt in the grasping mud. The deer was quicker and more used to the conditions but the Warriors were stronger and through sheer force of numbers they managed to corner the beast in a grove with a steep climb behind it.
Apollo moved forward and knelt beside the quivering beast. "We mean you no harm," he said, reaching out to stroke its short fur reassuringly. "Please do not be afraid."
The creature stiffened at his touch. Wide eyes lifted to meet his own. "Like you meant Slynavo no harm?" Its voice trembled as violently as the rest of it. "I saw what you did to him with your sticks of fire."
Apollo regarded the creature. "You were there when we rescued Starbuck?" he asked. The creature nodded slowly. "Then you know we mean only his good."
"You took him away!" The anger made the creature brave and strong. "You would have ruined everything!"
Apollo gulped. "I did not understand," he admitted. "Starbuck came back to you, did he not?" Again the creature nodded. "Will you help me to understand that now?" He kept his voice as calm and controlled as he could. "What is your name? he asked softly.
The deer snorted. "I am Magawincha!" she said proudly. "I found the Chosen One. I watched over him through the cleansing and he called me, Mags." Suddenly the creature seemed to grow smaller and crumple in on itself. It let out a strange sniffing noise and it took Apollo a few centons to realise that it as crying. Such a human characteristic on alien features made him feel strangely uncomfortable but what it said next caused his head to snap upwards and a shiver of frozen fear to run along his spine. "I vowed never to leave him," Magawincha sniffed miserably. "Not while he still lived."
TBC
